


The Nightmare Kaleidoscope

by TungstenCat



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Fantasy, Horror, not necessarily bad ends, though we're likely to get a few, which is a lot considering it's Fate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28859754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TungstenCat/pseuds/TungstenCat
Summary: Snippets and stories from Grail Wars gone terribly wrong, where hope is filtered through webs of shadows. No, no, Kaleidoscope, turn back!A companion series to the Drunk Kaleidoscope, for stories of a darker bent. Let's see where this takes us.
Kudos: 7





	The Nightmare Kaleidoscope

**Author's Note:**

> This anthology is intended as a holding pen for all the dark little teethlings that occasionally chew through the marshmallow expanses of my brain. Definitely not everyone's cup of tea, though I'm not expecting to stray into grim dark or gratuitous cruelty.

**Author's Note:** Snippet the First, in which the author shows her age by writing a crossover between Fate and a game that's nearly 20 years old. Some familiarity with Silent Hill 2, or at least elements of the franchise, is probably for the best.

* * *

Shirou staggered through the rusted halls of the ruined academy. Slick blood, already turning sticky in the stale air, coated his hand where he pressed it tightly over his shoulder wound.

It hurt _, god it hurt_ , but he didn't dare stop and rest against a wall. Everything was coated with grime and dried blood. He couldn't risk an infection. For a moment, he thought wistfully of the first aid kit he'd shoved into his backpack before coming here, hopeful he wouldn't need it but cautious from past experience. Those supplies were all used up, the bandages wrapped around his torso to cover the slashes that those _things_ had cut into his back.

Gritting his teeth, he stumbled on. His head was pounding, not aided by the clanging of the industrial fan slowly spinning in the ruins of the corridor's . Maybe an aspirin would help. The last few hadn't, but—

— _hope springs eternal—_

Shirou blinked. He didn't remember when he'd read that, only that he'd been sitting in the sunlight. Now, wandering in the dark, he clung to it like a lifeline.

He slid off his backpack. There was a soft thump as it hit the wire mesh of the floor, a thin metal spiderweb suspended over darkness. The seeming fragility had frightened Shirou, so much that he'd stared at it for more than five minutes, pale-faced and shivering, before stepping out on it. But the mesh had held, instead of giving out under him in a squeal of tortured metal. He had to believe it would keep doing so. There was no other choice, not without exhausting himself looking for an alternative. One that hadn't presented itself, in all the hours since the siren's wail had twisted a forgotten town into a rusted nightmare and—

The fog was creeping in again. It did that every time he let his thoughts drift, blurring the edges of his memory and, with it, his purpose.

Huffing to clear the dread suffusing his lungs, Shirou pulled the backpack open and rummaged through its meagre supplies. A half dozen Calorie Mate bars, a water bottle (already half empty), extra batteries...

_Where's the aspirin bottle?_

He was reaching the bottom of the bag when his hand brushed against folded paper. He froze, then instinctively pulled out the letter, even though he already knew the contents by heart.

His fingers trembled as he unfolded it and held the words, drawn in precise cursive, up to the harsh glow of his flashlight.

_To my Master,_

_Through the mist of dreams, I find myself straying to our old battleground. The town where our fates were forged into a single shining blade._

_Do you remember what you told me that night?_

_"I don't have any wishes that won't come true. Because if it's a dream I can't reach by myself, I won't even dream it in the first place."_

_You declared it so boldly. Perhaps part of you knew even then that it was a falsehood. It could not be otherwise, when you carried my stolen fragment in your breast._

_Did you ever reach your dream, Shirou? Were you able to see a world where no tears are shed?_

_When the shadows of my own slumber parted, I found myself not standing in Avalon but on this frigid shore. This faded remnant of the town where we once fought as comrades. This forgotten place where regrets lap at my feet and the dead whisper from among the cracks._

_I cannot stand. I cannot move. I cannot pass to that distant isle._

_I cannot die until you return it to me._

_I await you, Shirou._

The paper trembled in his hands.

"Saber…"

He was just trying to remember what she looked like — a fleeting impression of blonde hair and a mournful smile — when the sharp crack of radio static filled the air.

Hurriedly he folded away the letter and called Kanshou and Bakuya to his hands. While the radio registered as perfectly normal (and perfectly broken) no matter how often he Analyzed it, it could hiss and squeal without warning. Shirou had learnt the hard way not to ignore the static. It always heralded danger.

Swords firm in his grasp, he pivoted to face the gaping hole in the wall he could spot a little further down the hall. The one that dripped rust along each edge, and looked like it might open to another passage. He didn't wait long before the sound of dragging footsteps echoed above the radio static. Footsteps, and a low animalistic muttering.

It sounded like a Red, as he had dubbed one of the many monstrosities that haunted the town.

_Please let it be a Red,_ he shuddered, his grip tightening. _Not something even worse._

He felt no relief when the creature came lumbering through the hole, and his wish was granted. With his flashlight turned low, he could barely out the mottled flesh of the Red's body. The cancerous flaps could have been loose skin or clothing, except for the filthy blindfold partially grown into the corrupted suggestion of a face, right where a human would have eyes.

Shirou swallowed as it came listlessly down the hall, stumbling on burnt legs. Before he could bring himself to move it aside, the flashlight caught the shine of red liquid dripping down the monster's wrists. Brighter than blood, as bright as molten rubies.

_Corrosive,_ too. That liquid burned like cold fire when it splashed _through_ cloth and against skin, as he'd learned too late back in the abandoned manor. The scalded patch on his left forearm would likely never heal. But he deserved it, after what he'd let happen to-

_The fog again_. Shirou shook his head, and only then noticed that his cheeks were wet with tears. They tasted salty on his lips, like grief and guilt.

Still, he prefered the tears by far to the hideous nausea that gripped him whenever he saw the _other_ ones, the Crawlers. The ones that dripped worms from dozens of slits riddling their bodies. It was all he could do not to vomit when they writhed up from the shadows, gripped by a sickness far deeper than mere physical reaction to their stench.

A screech cut through the air. Shirou's head snapped up to see the Red charging him, weeping arms stretched threateningly towards him. He threw his blades and impaled it through the scorched mass that might pass as its stomach.

It staggered, then kept coming. He summoned more swords, shooting them like shining arrows in the darkness. Two; three; six, each embedding themselves in tortured flesh or tearing it to ribbons.

Ten, and the Red finally went down. The creature fell abruptly, as if a switch had been thrown to drain all the electricity from its limbs. The body sprawled out, the misshapen head bent back at an unnatural angle.

_Dead_.

Shirou could get on his way, cautiously walk in the other direction to continue his search. Instead, he moved towards the corpse as if pulled on invisible wires.

_Dead_. It should have come as a relief. Why then was his throat tightening?

As if in a dream, he saw himself standing over the burnt body. Inevitably it screamed and jerked back to life. Monstrous fingers locked around his ankle with a strength that made his bones squeal.

The shock of pain freed Shirou from his trance. Howling, he yanked his leg back and summoned another weapon to hand. When the fleshy blindfold turned up towards him, he planted his sword through it into the heavy skull.

A shriek of pain from the beast. He thrust another blade to cleave its head in two.

Black ichor and jewel blood spilled from the body as it collapsed onto the mesh floor. The carcass spasmed once more, arms flailing wildly, before it finally stilled again. Shirou prodded it with a traced spear— hard— before coming to stand over it again.

No sign of life. This time, it was truly dead.

Relief crashed over Shirou's shoulders. His muscles sagged with it, even as something constricted in his chest. It took him a moment to realize his mouth was moving, forcing words through his parched lips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" he groaned. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't there, I'm sorry I didn't see, please, I never meant for this, _please_ …"

A name danced on the tip of his tongue, a vision of crystal eyes and a painted smile. Then it slipped through the cracks in his mind before he could grab it, dissolving into gray haze.

Shuddering, Shirou stumbled away from the corpse and mindlessly walked towards the gap in the wall. He felt adrift, unmoored. Like a gust of wind could just blow him away.

_Saber._

He jerked around to retrieve his pack.

_I can't lose myself like that. I have to find her._

Setting his jaw, he walked to the gap and lifted his sleeve to his mouth to ward off the iron stench of rust and old blood. It was stronger here, so thick he could almost taste it on his tongue. Cautiously he shone his flashlight down the length of the passage, noting the fleshy patches growing over the familiar corroded panels and wire mesh.

_You can't leave. Not until you're sure she isn't here._

Pressing his nose into his cuff, he stepped through the gap.

Mercifully, nothing rushed at him from the darkness. He walked down the passage in tense silence for a few minutes before his light hit the double doors at the end. Though perhaps _doors_ wasn't the right word. A pair of open mouths stretched out in the crawling skin of the bloodied wall, studded with malformed teeth and awkwardly stitched at the blackened lips.

More than enough space in their aperture to push through. And Shirou had to go, already knowing it would lead out to the courtyard. That was how Homurahara was laid out, after all.

_This isn't Homurahara_ , he told himself sharply as he approached, nervously noting how the lips quivered with each of his steps. _Sure, it's the same layout, but that's to be expected. They build schools from a standard floor plan, that's all._

It was just another nightmarish landscape to struggle through in his quest. It wasn't the school he had long since consigned to memory.

But it was, it _was_. He could feel it deep in his bones.

He took a shuddering breath to steady himself, then ducked under the rotting gums of one mouth and strode out into a stagnant night. There were no stars in the pitch blackness stretching above. No wind, no murmur of distant life. Not even the metallic grinding that had set his teeth on edge at the ruined temple. It made him feel small, exposed. Another deep inhale helped dredge up the shreds of his courage, enough to get him moving again.

Shirou's shoes squelched as he wandered out into the centre of the ( _twisted, but nauseatingly familiar_ ) courtyard. He glanced down to find a viscous black substance clinging to his feet. Wrinkling his nose, he looked around to find the grounds were covered in it, slicked over dead grass and pavement alike.

His skin prickled with disgust, then a humourless laugh shook his throat.

_Lost in a nightmare, monsters on each side, and I'm worried about how I'm going to clean this gunk off my shoes. She… Saber, Saber… was right. I really do need to consider my priorities._

He couldn't remember when Saber might have said that to him, but it didn't feel off. Shirou latched onto that small bit of comfort as he looked around, wondering where he should go next. The swimming pool, maybe, or—

A scream tore the night asunder. High and shrill, and unmistakably human. Calling a blade to hand, Shirou chased it down to the archery dojo.

The building was dark as night as he ran up to it, the walls seeming to meld into the gloom. But the door gave no resistance when Shirou pushed it wide open, only groaning in protest. Snickering echoed from within, oddly distorted in the chill of night, then a low thumping sound of flesh hitting flesh. Shirou rushed through, not giving fear the time to settle in. There was no choice but to press onward, regardless of what he might find inside. Not when someone needed him.

The inside of the dojo was faintly illuminated by a blood red sky rearing up behind the range's targets. Shirou might have wondered at the contrast with the pitch darkness outside if not for the figure standing in the middle of the centre room.

"How'd you like that?" cackled the figure, and Shirou felt his brain swim at a voice plucked straight from his past. "Who's the bad influence on the student body now, you prig?"

Shinji Matou looked older, his wavy hair grown long to tumble over the back of a torn business jacket. His mouth twisted in savage glee as he delivered a series of kicks to the crumpled form at his feet. Shirou crept closer, reluctant to draw his ( _friend)_ former classmate's attention for reasons he couldn't articulate, but that filled his gut with ice.

He hadn't thought of Shinji in years, not since he'd disappeared in the—

— _darkness at noon, friend and foe alike swallowed up by a tide of hungry shadows; a pale golden light flickering at his shoulder, the only beacon against the fiery black ring of_ —

— the War, Shirou blinked as the fog rolled over again. Absently rubbing away the fresh tears stinging his eyes, he walked a little closer. He had honestly thought Shinji was dead. He should be overjoyed to find him here, for both their sakes. A familiar face in the nightmare.

The wild look in Shinji's eyes made him pause. He followed the other's gaze down to the floor, and terror seized his chest when could no longer deny the body sprawled there. A human body, clad in a tan uniform. Blood oozed from the messy stump of its neck, the wet flesh torn and ragged. As if the head had been worried like a chew toy, then torn clean off.

Bile rose in Shirou's throat, so sharp he had to lean against the wall to steady himself. A moment later, he doubled up and retched all over his shoes.

The blows came to a stop. Shirou forced himself to look up, a thin trail of saliva and worse trickling down the side of his mouth. Shinji was staring at him with his fists raised, his face a mask of belligerent fear.

Then his shoulders lowered. "Oh, Emiya," he drawled, sliding on the unctuous smile that Shirou had hated in high school. "I might have known I'd find _you_ here."

Shirou found himself staring down at the blood pooling under the corpse. It looked black in the unnatural red lighting. "Shinji… that guy. Did you kill him?"

He didn't want to believe it. Part of him argued that he didn't have to, because it was clearly impossible. That wound looked like nothing a human could inflict. But the sharp edge of his friend's smirk made him deeply uneasy.

"I had to," huffed Shinji, turning away from the body and pacing along the shadowed floor. "Self-defense. He was crazy, a danger to everyone." Warming to that thought, he grinned over his shoulder at Shirou. "Yeah, that's right. You should be grateful I saved you from him."

Shirou grimaced as the blood spread a little further, slipping through cracks in the floorboards. He felt like throwing up again, his throat burning despite his empty stomach..

"Did you… oh god, his head. What did you _do_ , Shinji?"

"You wouldn't understand!" snarled the other, back still turned to Shirou. His clenched hands trembled at his sides. "I w— _am_ the Matou Heir! A scion of great mages!" He stalked towards the open range, then threw his hands up at the bleeding sky. "I had a purpose. A _destiny._ I would restore the family to glory."

"Shinji, you…" muttered Shirou, cautiously backing away.

"I spend hours studying in the library, pouring through the reagents. Every scrap of knowledge, every forgotten ritual." His foot stomped viciously on the floor, the echo sharp among the shadows. "For _nothing_! Do you know why, Emiya?"

Shirou shook his head, but he didn't think it mattered. Shinji wasn't looking at him, his gaze fixed somewhere far in the distance.

"Because my worthless mother didn't give me any _circuits!_ " His voice exploded into bitter rage. "What a sick joke - the heir to mighty sorcerers, vaults of resources at my fingertips, and no _fucking circuits!_ " He picked up a bit of rusted metal and threw it towards a target at the far end. "As useful as an eagle without wings! Do you _understand_?"

"I.. no, I don't." Shirou swallowed hard at the pain in Shinji's eyes when the latter turned to glare at him, but refused to back down. "I have no idea what you went through. But Shinji…"

A memory swam up through the gloom of his mind. A slithering shadow, long flowing hair and a forbidding mask set on a face that was beautiful but cold, so cold…

"When you had power, you threw Rider on innocents," he said, and felt steel push through his voice. "If you had magic circuits, can you honestly tell me you wouldn't have—"

" _Shut up!_ " snarled Shinji, jabbing an accusatory finger towards him. "What the _fuck_ do you know, Emiya? You're _nothing_ , just some kid picked up from the dirt." His mouth curled in anger as he crossed his arms. "A no-name with no bloodline of note, no importance to anything. So why did _you_ get circuits?"

Steel materialized in Shirou's hand on instinct before he banished it. _No, I won't let this turn into a fight. He's a human, not one of those monsters_. He took a sharp breath. _I can reach him. Diffuse this somehow. I have to._

"Shinji—"

"You never needed them!" shouted Shinji. His eyes were dark, his shoulders trembling with anger. "You never _deserved_ them. They should have been mine!"

Shirou raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. "That's not how it works, you know it isn't."

The other man's eyes flashed, and Shirou braced himself for a punch. Then the tension abruptly left Shinji's shoulders. He spread his arms, the lazy smirk returning to his face.

"Nevermind. It doesn't matter anymore."

"It doesn't?" Shirou repeated cautiously, resisting the urge to sidle towards the exit.

Shinji grinned, as much to himself as to Shirou. His step was almost jaunty as he moved back towards the centre of the dojo. "Now I have what I deserved all along, you know. My _birthright,_ " he breathed out, his eyes brightening.

Pulling down his sleeve, he held his bare arm up for Shirou's inspection.

"I don't see—" said Shirou, leaning a bit closer despite himself.

Purplish-red light flared along Shinji's arm, crawling up the skin in sharp lines before dimming to a sickly glow. Shirou had never seen a tumor, but he was sure it would be precisely that colour. It didn't seem to bother Shinji, who fixed him with a triumphant smirk.

"See? I have all the magic circuits I ever wanted now, well over sixty! And a Magic Crest, too!"

The lines coagulated to form a pulsing glyph on Shinji's upper bicep. Shirou had admittedly only ever seen a handful of crests, but they had always been flat patterns on the skin. This one spread outwards in a fleshy growth, shredding the jacket sleeve as it took on bulk. The glowing lines thickened, becoming almost vein-like as they sunk deeper into Shinji's arm.

Forcing a placating smile to his lips—revulsion wouldn't help him here, not when his friend was already wounded—Shirou took a step forward. "That doesn't look healthy, Shinji. I know that magecraft comes at a price, but—"

"Shut up, Emiya," snapped Shinji, anger momentarily bleeding back into his smirk. "Some things are worth paying for." The superior air returned as Shinji ran a hand through his hair. "Not that you'd know. Such a damn stick-in-the-mud, never appreciating anything you were given. Not a _damn thing_."

"Okay," said Shirou quietly. He'd heard the same complaint many times from… well, many times, anyway. Enough that he was used to shrugging it away. "You have power now. I see that."

Shinji's smirk widened.

"But Shinji," continued Shirou, trying to pick his words with care. "If you're that powerful, you need to be careful how you use it. You can't just go around killing people, it's—"

"Stop lecturing me! That's all you ever did," shouted Shinji, the smirk falling away like oil sliding off glass. "Looking down on me. Thinking you're so much better than me. Stealing _her_ from me," he growled, his eyes narrowed with wounded pride. "My own sister too. Choosing dirt like you!"

The flash of uncertainty in his face told Shirou that he wasn't the only one clouded by fog, though it seemed that Shinji remembered certain things better than he did. But Shirou didn't need to remember to know what was important.

"People belong to themselves, Shinji," he said, his lip curling involuntarily. "You can't steal or own them."

_But you can abandon them._

The thought slammed into him out of nowhere, lurching from the fog to strike him in the face. His fingers involuntarily reached over his shoulder towards his backpack, and the letter tucked inside.

When he managed to wrench his hand back and look at Shinji again, the man gave him a serene smile. It sent a chill down Shirou's spine.

"But you _can_ own people, Emiya. Just like we own Servants."

The sickly light of Shinji's crest flared again, pouring through cracks in the pulsing flesh. The shadows behind him reared up, sharpening and solidifying, until a hideous figure loomed over them both.

Shirou inhaled sharply and backed away, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. _But the radio_ , _the radio didn't—_

"That's right," he distantly heard Shinji say. " _My_ Servant. The strongest there is. Nothing like my sister's sorry excuse for one."

Instinctively materializing his blades, Shirou forced himself to ignore the sudden reek of clotted blood to focus on the apparition. Long chitinous limbs protruded from underneath large flaps of skin, like it was clad in a malformed suit of pulsating flesh. The round head looked like an undifferentiated gangrenous mass as it tilted towards Shirou, considering him with unseen eyes.

Shinji clicked his tongue pityingly. "I guess your Servant ditched you, though. Look at you, bleeding from every inch. Hair turned white from fright." Eyes fixed on the monster, Shirou barely caught the contemptuous shake of the man's head. "Pathetic."

"No," admitted Shirou, swallowing hard as he moved suddenly stiff legs into a defensive stance. "I came to find her, but… she isn't mine. She hasn't been for a long time."

"You think that makes you sound noble, don't you?" sneered Shinji, his posture pointedly relaxed. "Don't you dare think you're better than me!"

"Stop it, Shinji!" yelled Shirou, the threads of his patience wearing thin under fear. "It's not _about_ that!"

Shinji only smiled. "You fucked up too," he said in a tone of dark relish. "That's why you're here, isn't it? That's why it chose you."

Shirou furrowed his brow. It sounded like rambling, but for the sudden tug in the miasma wearing the corners of his mind. " _It?_ Chose? Listen, Shinji, please send it away and we can talk—"

" _Talk?_ You mean you'll talk, and expect me to sit there and take it," spat Shinji, before his face lit up in unholy glee. "No, Emiya. No one's going to make me shut up and listen. Not ever again."

"Shinji, you stubborn—"

"Ravager," intoned Shinji, pointing a finger towards Shirou with deliberate slowness, as if savouring the gesture. " _Get him_."

There was no screech or roar, just a whoosh of displaced air as the creature _split open_. The flaps opened into chitinous wings, exposing raw-red flesh oozing underneath. The talons lengthened, and the head shuddered and splintered into a vertical maw full of bloodied fangs.

Terror lanced through Shirou's mind as the creature lunged at him, claws spread wide. Then instinct took over, and he caught the charge on his blades. The shock sent violent tremors shooting up his arms. If he weren't so tied to his weapons that they were practically natural extensions of his body, they would have surely been ripped from his hands.

Gritting his teeth, he shoved up hard with both blades. The creature recoiled a few steps, looking almost playful as it danced to one side. Then it charged again, battering his head with fleshy wings until he was half-blinded. It was all he could do to parry the furious swipes of the talons underneath.

Chitinous claws clashed with cold steel in furious melee, again and again. His brow ran with sweat, his muscles ached.

"How do you like it, Emiya?" called Shinji from the side, malice oozing from each syllable. "Now you know what it's like to be powerless! To fight with everything you have, and know that it's impossible for you!"

"Shinji!" gasped Shirou as he deflected a strike aimed straight for his gut. "Shinji, stop this!"

"Oh, I don't think so. I'mreally enjoying myself here, Emiya!" laughed Shinji just as the creature's jaws snapped inches shut from Shirou's face, showering him with flecks of black spittle. "Come on, don't be selfish. Let's have a little more fun."

_What part of this is fun?!_

Shirou cursed and twisted around to avoid another lunge of talons. The fierceness of the assault was tiring him quickly, and the creature showed no sign of strain. He had to end this, before he lost through sheer exhaustion.

_A decisive strike_ , _then_. Give it an opening, then counterattack harder. He would bleed, but so would the beast.

Gritting his teeth, Shirou struck with Kanshou on the right side, towards the gaping maw. He lifted Bakya a little too high on his left, leaving a small gap in his guard. As expected, the monster went for it, lunging down to plunge its talons deep in his flank. Pain _blazed_ all the way up Shirou's side, but desperation kept him moving. Howling, he brought both blades crashing down on the creature's exposed head.

The blades barely cut a half inch into the flesh. It was like hitting an iron wall, and just as painful on his abused arms. Shirou dropped his swords and staggered back, frantically searching through his mental vaults for something that could punch through thick armor.

"Alright, Ravager. You can stop playing with your food now."

Cruel claws sunk into his shoulders with lightning speed, far faster than before. More pain, shooting through his nerves like a thousand jagged nails. Then he was being pulled up, up towards the madly snapping jaw—

_I await you, Shirou_.

Golden light formed in Shirou's hand. He didn't look down, only roared and thrust the blade straight into the grotesque mouth. Wet flash parted before his edge as he cleaved, almost shearing the jaw off entirely. With a shrill hiss, the creature released its grip and pulled away.

Black ichor spilled from the head wound as the monster reared, wings flared out. Shirou glanced down to find his fingers closed around the blue-and-gold hilt of Caliburn.

_Thank you, thank—_

"That's your idea of killing him off?" He looked up to see Shinji glaring from the far side of the dojo, arms crossed. "Ah, he did nick you with that little knife of his. Let's handle that, shall we?"

Smirking, Shinji raised his glowing arm. The tumorous Crest shuddered, then spilled out purple light in sharp pulses. With each pulse, the monster's head wound visibly knitted together under Shirou's horrified gaze. It stalked towards him again, looking none the worse for wear.

_A command seal, that's all_. Shirou grit his teeth and unleashed a barrage of blades, hurling them as quickly as he could summon them. His nerves burned with the strain. _He only has so many. Once they're exhausted, you can put this 'Servant' down for good._

He threw blades until the creature was impaled in more than a dozen places, a gruesome pincushion of chitin and steel. Another pulse of sickly light, and they all fell away, pushed aside by regenerating flesh.

"Give up, Emiya! I'm the guy holding all the cards this time."

Shirou leaped forward instead, desperately slashing away with Caliburn. Again and again, he opened great wounds in the hard flesh, until his shirt and skin were soaked in stinging ichor. Each time, Shinji only laughed and raised his hand anew, and the monster's injuries melted away. Shirou thought he had counted the equivalent of nine command seals' worth, with no sign of change. Nothing but the fatigue pressing down harder and harder on him, until his entire body screamed in protest.

_The Crest. You need to target the Crest_.

Shirou hated turning his blades on a person, even one smirking maliciously at him. A person that had once been his friend, before spite consumed him entirely. But—

— _green eyes, bright as emeralds, peering up at him through strands of shining blonde hair—_

He couldn't die here. He _couldn't_.

Before he could think better of it, Shirou charged at Shinji. The other man didn't seem surprised, only lazily waved a hand in his 'Servant's' direction. In a blur, the creature was at Shirou's side again, reaching for him with long claws.

Shirou threw Caliburn in its face. It detonated on impact, flinging fiery shards of metal in every direction. They cut cruelly into his arms, but Shirou pushed through. He had expected it, after all.

The same could not be said for the monster. It recoiled, caught off guard by the point-blank explosion. A momentary hesitation, but just enough for Shirou to catch up with its Master.

Shinji squealed as Shirou grabbed his arm and yanked hard. "Emiya, wait- _ow!_ " He looked nervously at the knife that materialized in Shirou's off hand. "Okay, _okay_ , let's t—"

His wheedling turned into a scream when Shirou plunged the knife into the throbbing Crest. No time for hesitation or negotiation. Not with the Servant breathing at his back.

Putting his full weight behind the blade, Shirou sunk the knife in deeper, inch by inch. The spurting blood made it hard to see. Shinji's agonized howls made it hard to think. How best to cut the mass out?

_Make an incision all along the bulk, then lever it out._ Just like pulling a stubborn tree stump.

The monster should have struck him by now. Shirou's shoulders were braced for the inevitable blow. But he heard only a weird shivering behind him, like crinkled paper in the wind, as he dug his blade in.

Shinji's screams and sobs rang in Shirou's ears. The man was pushing desperately at him, the frantic struggle of an animal desperate to escape the trap. Shirou only gritted his teeth and worked harder. He could fit the flat of the blade under the wet flesh of the Crest now. Forcing himself not to think, he grabbed the mass with both hands and _pulled_.

The mass came up a short distance then jerked in his grasp, tied down by something. Shirou looked down to see glowing lines still anchoring it to Shinji's arm. That, and something thin and fleshy-pale and stringy…

_Nerves_. _I just ripped out his nerves_.

With all his frantic cutting, Shirou hadn't even noticed when the other man went limp.

Dropping the knife like it was molten hot, Shirou laid Shinji out as carefully as panic would allow. The body was still warm, but fading. A brush of fingers found a weak pulse, growing steadily fainter.

"I…" He stared helplessly down at the indigo eyes. They were already clouding over, the proud mouth hanging slack.

Shirou stayed there for a long while, stunned into silence. His mind felt blank, like the fog had receded and left only a barren shore.

"I… I killed a human being," he muttered eventually, rising unsteadily to his feet. "I… again."

He walked blindly through the dojo on legs weak as water, then bumped into something. Too drained to jerk himself back to safety, he looked down to see his backpack. He'd forgotten all about it in the struggle.

Paralyzed by the tumult of emotions gnawing his chest, Shirou blinked at it stupidly. Then he abruptly snatched it up, desperately pulling it open to grab the letter. The folded paper felt like the only thing letting him breathe.

_I cannot die until you return it to me._

"You won't," growled Shirou as he stepped back into the unnatural night. "I'll save you, Saber… whatever it costs."

He stood in the bleak courtyard, black liquid pouring over his ruined shoes. His shoulders slumped. Wherever Saber was waiting, it wasn't here. But he would keep looking, no matter how badly his shoulder burned, or the pain each step sent shooting through his ribs.

_Wait for me, Saber. I'm coming._

Shirou moved towards the looming school gates, passing by a nameplate rusted beyond all recognition. He couldn't clearly see the figures lumbering in the gloom beyond the twisted metal bars, only hear their inhuman wails and the scraping of terrible claws on broken pavement.

Somewhere out there were answers, or at least an anchor in the fog. There had to be.

"Trace On."

Shirou clutched his hands around the projected swords and walked out into darkness.


End file.
